


Little Talks

by msermesth



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Sad, Selfcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth
Summary: Appreciating Anthony’s handsome face feels a little bit like masturbation. Tony stares, shamelessly.





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for ults day 2018, but then got in my head about it and wrote something else last minute. This is a sequel to [Just for the Conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445298), a fic where 616-Steve and ults-Tony date and then have a threesome with 616-Tony. You will _definitely_ need to read that to understand this. There is also a prequel/remix by ladyshadowdrake, [A Little Less Conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562535), that is awesome and you should also read.
> 
> WARNING: This is marked dub-con because ults Tony is pretty drunk. The sex itself is less sexy than you'd think.
> 
> Thank you to the ults discord server for enabling me and to cptxrogers for being so especially encouraging.

“...And that's when I woke up and realized I had no idea what planet I was on.” The crowd reacts with the expected amount of laughter, appropriately scandalized, and Tony decides not to follow up with more details on the three-day bender that followed. His audience won't appreciate it like they should.

Plus, they've already moved their attention from Tony onto something behind him. A strong, firm hand clasps his shoulder and knocks him off balance. It's possibly because he hasn't entirely acclimated to the impact of Earth's atmosphere on his alcohol tolerance, and there's one way to fix that--he takes a long drink of the martini in his hand and doesn't stop until it's empty.

“Can I borrow him for a minute?” Steve asks like he doesn't already know everyone listening to Tony's stories is programmed to agree with Captain America.

Tony doesn't wait for the crowd's non-answer, and turns around to let Steve guide him away. Steve's a heavy presence at his side and it seems like his shoulders take up the entire ballroom in that perfectly tailored tuxedo. Good to know Anthony is dressing him right.

He's a sight for sore eyes, an almost perfect carbon copy of the Steve from Tony's own universe, except this one is softer around the eyes and didn't fly into Galactus's mouth in an perfectly true-to-character act of sacrifice. Tony’s Steve is gone, dead, so Tony's gone, too. First on this surreal copy of his own home in an alternate universe, and then in space. He's still not sure why he returned to earth and is not sure if he regrets it yet.

Steve hands him a tumbler of what smells like scotch and smiles when Tony takes it. It’s his way of saying “I know you’re a separate person from my boyfriend, who is you in my own universe,” and “our time together was special and I hope we can still be friends.” Essentially, they used to fuck, back when Tony was new to the place and Steve was hopelessly pining for another man with his features. Tony takes a sip and it's good stuff, certainly much better than anything available at the open bar. “How're you doing?” Steve asks, like he wants to know the answer.

That hits him right where it hurts and Tony feels unsteady for completely martini-unrelated reasons. This is exactly why he's been avoiding Steve since he got back to earth. He does this thing to Tony where for a second, Tony thinks he could be happy, and then it's gone the next through no fault of his own.

“Fine. Thanks for the drink, by the way. You always did spoil me.” Tony’s pretty sure there isn't a lot of precedent for talking to your ex-boyfriend who left you because he was in love with another version of you.

Tony doesn't blame him, Tony was the one who got the two love birds together in the first place.

As if on cue, Anthony appears at Steve's side. He's shaved off the goatee, but the mustache that remains looks good on him and adds to dapper effect. Appreciating Anthony’s handsome face feels a little bit like masturbation. Tony stares, shamelessly.

“When did you get back on earth?” Anthony asks, even though Tony is damn sure he already knows. His demeanor is a tad less warm than Steve’s, he stands there awkwardly watching the two of them and Tony feels like he’s doing something wrong. It’s not a feeling he likes much and he takes a long drink.

“Just a few days ago,” Tony says, noticing exactly how Anthony's eyes track the glass in his hand and then how Anthony steps closer to Steve, making them appear like they’re conjoined twins.

They radiate a certain calm now that they’re near each other. Tony hates them in a painful way that leaves him hating himself more.

“It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.” The sentiments underneath Steve’s words should make Tony feel warm. Thoughts like _I missed you_ and _this is why I didn’t want to return_ and _I’ll need another drink soon_ pass through his head.

Anthony’s silent, as if he needs a second to decide how he feels on the subject. “Yes. Too long,” he settles on, and it’s the truth. Tony could tell if Anthony is lying; Tony’s lied enough to see it in his reflection. “We should grab dinner sometime soon.” Maybe Tony imagines what Anthony’s implying, but he’s never been drunk enough to indulge in wishful thinking.

“Oh, I would love to grab _dinner_ with the both of you.” He says _dinner_ like he says _sex_. Steve has the audacity to blush as if Tony isn’t intimately familiar with his prostate.

The three of them stand there with their history a magnet holding them together and weighing them down. These are the types of situations Tony should be an expert in avoiding, these aren’t the first people he’s ever had a threesome with. It shouldn’t matter that seeing Steve reminds him of someone else, someone with a stern face and tense shoulders and a penchant for dangerous drama. _His_ Steve, from _his_ universe never would have loved him the way the man in front of him loves his Tony. And that doesn’t matter, anyway; _his_ Steve is dead.

A slight pinging sound interrupts the heavy silence. Steve pulls out a communication device generations beyond what he had when he was together with Tony, and reads it with the focus of someone who just arrived late to work. “I got to go,” he announces without looking up at either of them.

“Are we assembling?” Anthony asks. Tony likes the idea of a fight; his armor is across town, but he can get into it in less than ten minutes.

Steve looks between the two of them, and for the first time tonight, does not seem to like what he sees. “I don’t need the whole team.” He places an arm on Anthony’s shoulder, and asks, “Can you get him--” he nods at Tony like Tony isn’t standing right fucking there “--home safely?”

Tony sighs as loudly as he can manage and finishes his glass. Steve’s underestimating him if he thinks that just because he’s drunk doesn’t mean he can’t fight or at the very least make it back to the penthouse suite he’s staying at.

Anthony gives Tony one of those apprehensive-but-curious looks. “I can do that.”

“You really don’t have to,” Tony insists and he’s suddenly remembering a third of the reason he broke up with this Steve in the first place.

“I don't mind,” Anthony continues to protest. Tony hears the silent _it's the least I can do_ , like Anthony is in any way responsible for everything that is off with this situation, like Anthony has ever done anything wrong in his life.

Tony studies him, really tries to understand what makes him tick, and only sees in front of him a handsome man with his whole life figured out. “Fine, but only because you're so persuasive,” he says and splays a hand across Anthony's chest. “We don't need Steve to have any fun.”

Anthony does a deer-in-the-headlights impersonation and Steve grunts in a way that's a little too familiar. “I don't think that's the best idea--” Anthony begins.

Steve leans over to anything and whispers into his ear. Anthony looks scandalized, but Steve just smiles, and very few people in attendance know what that smile means. He says, “I gotta leave, but you two take care of yourselves.”

Tony watches Anthony stare at Steve as he walks his massive shoulders out the room. “What did he say?” Tony asks, knowing the answer is going to be good.

“He said he's okay with it as long as--” Anthony coughs “--as long as we _film_ it.” He’s got that surprised-but-turned-on look he manages.

Tony wonders if their love life has been this exciting in his absence. A waiter walks by and Tony slips his empty glass onto the tray. “Come on, gorgeous.” He slinks an arm across Anthony’s shoulders. If he stumbles a little as he transfers his weight, it’s because he hasn't gotten used to earth’s gravity, not the alcohol in his system. “You need to take me home.”

The ballroom swims around him as Anthony walks him out the back entrance. The valet has already fetched Tony’s bright red Buggati Chiron and all Tony has to do was slip down in the passenger’s seat. Anthony makes a sound that’s clearly sexual when the engine turns over.

Streetlights cast shadows across Anthony’s face as he drives, his eyes focused on the road ahead despite there being nothing there. Tony watches the tension on his brow and fingers tight on the steering wheel. He’s gorgeous like this, with a bead of sweat running down his neck, ruffled in a way only a man with a perfectly trimmed mustache could be. Tony wipes the sweat off and then traces Anthony’s hairline, loves that Anthony shivers, hates that he never tears away his focus on what's in front of him. “You’re quite the sight tonight, darling. Just perfect, in every way.” Tony runs his hands down the tuxedo jacket, admires the craftsmanship needed to make something fit that well. “Did you shave just for me? Were you worried Steve wouldn’t be able to tell us apart?”

“No,” Anthony says quickly, defensively, like he only figured out now it was a dumb idea.

“I like it.” Tony reaches out, punctuates his point by trailing his finger against the edge of Anthony’s top lip. “You look like something out of the movies. A real gentleman.” _A man Steve could love_ , he doesn’t add. _A man maybe my own Steve could love._

Anthony finally looks over. He’s not charmed at all, but there’s warmth there. “I’m glad you think so.”

It’s quiet, just the overpowered engine rumbling beneath them reminds Tony he can still hear, and Tony watches, and watches, and watches. And then he _wants._

“Aren’t you going to tell me I look pretty?” It’s half a joke and half a desperate attempt to feel desired the way he desires, needed the way he needs.

“You’re a very handsome man,” Anthony says, and the compliment barely registers. He’s breathing heavily, in a way Tony is intimately aware of.

They say self-love is the one of the hardest things to accomplish, that understanding and accepting yourself are almost impossible tasks. Tony doesn’t even try. Tonight, he loves the frazzled, beautiful, copy of himself in front of him.

Tony runs his hands down Anthony’s inner thighs, smirks when Anthony’s breath hitches, gets hard as Anthony squirms. The car stops right as Tony's about to brush his knuckles against the growing tent in Anthony's pants.

“Home sweet home,” he announces, his thoughts turning immediately dark and heavy at the thought of _home_ , like the emotion he is feeling could also be physical pain. He leans on Anthony as they walk through the hotel lobby and take the elevator up to the penthouse. Tony chose this hotel because it is opulent and far from the tower and all the reminders that this isn't _actually_ his home.

He gets the door open and pulls Anthony inside before he has time to come up with an excuse to go back and spy on the mission Steve's tangled up in. Anthony follows, pliant and nervous and almost smiling and Tony leads him to the couch before pushing him down.

“You're shameless, you know that?” Anthony tells him, admiration dripping all over his voice. Tony wonders why they're so different, if something happened to them years ago that shaped their lives, or if Tony's just so fundamentally broken the only thing to admire in him is his flagrant disregard for normalcy.

Tony aims to climb into Anthony's lap, but he mostly trips into it. “I've heard it said from time to time. It was Steve's favorite observation.”

It's probably cruel, but he can't help but appreciate the flash of jealousy behind Anthony's eyes. “Speaking of Steve…” Anthony says after the flash subsides and he remembers his Steve loves him dearly, “do you have a camera we could use?” he asks, because he's that way, always thinking, always caring. Tony could hate him if he ever thought Anthony took his Steve for granted, but he would never. Just another thing Tony wishes he had.

“Do you honestly think I haven’t installed an entire surveillance system in here?”

Anthony smirks. “Paranoid much?”

Tony leans forward, and rests his forehead against Anthony's, leaving him staring into those beautiful blue eyes. “Did you expect anything less?”

“You should brush your teeth,” Anthony says, but he stares back and just grips both sides of Tony's hips. His hands are firm, steady, Like he doesn't want him to leave.

Tony doesn't. “Please thank that boyfriend of yours for making this possible.”

Anthony relaxes at the mention of Steve. “I believe this will be thanks enough. Plus--” he moves a hand from Tony and fishes a ring out of his pocket, “--he's my husband now.” The simple gold ring glistens in his palms.

Steve, the other one, the _dead_ one, would have liked that, the idea of marriage and commitment and someone to share a life with. It makes Tony's throat go tight at the thought of Steve getting to have that, even if it never was going to be with Tony. _Congrats,_ is what Tony's supposed to say but words are beyond him. He kisses Anthony instead, like the mess he is, all tongue and teeth and need.

All across the universe Tony has a reputation as a fantastic lover; he is creative, practiced, and giving. But this, the things he's doing with Anthony right now, the tearing-off-the bow-tie thing? The frantic-button-ripping thing? This is taking. This is getting what you can't have.

Tony gets his hands all over Anthony's chest once the shirt is ruined, feels every crevice of firm muscle, imagines Steve appreciating it like Tony is now. Anthony's hands are slower and more sure, his mouth soft and gentle as it lingers against Tony's neck. Anthony _is_ good, full of all the skill Tony normally employs, somehow missing the despair that has Tony in hurry to get somewhere soon.

He rocks against Anthony, appreciates the friction on his hard dick, moans against where he's mouthing Anthony's earlobe. He tilts back enough that he can get his hands between them and Anthony holds him upright so he doesn't fall off. Anthony's zipper goes easily and Tony reaches above the waistband to pull as much of his cock out as he can. “God…” Anthony gasps, sounding surprised, of all things.

“I'm going to take care of you, gorgeous,” Tony whispers.  _I'm going to take you apart,_  Tony thinks. He shimmies back so that he has the leverage to get to his knees and is greeted by the sight of Anthony, perfectly tailored tuxedo and all, undone with his shirt hanging off his shoulder and the tip of his cock poking up above the waistband of his boxers. Anthony tips his hips up so Tony can pull down his pants and leave him bare. “You're going to remember this.”

Tony licks his dry lips and bends forward to slip Anthony into his mouth. It takes a few moments for the weight and strangeness to settle in, but as soon as he remembers that Anthony's Steve was fantastic at giving head, Tony hollows his cheeks and _moves_ , up and down, and pretends he can find a rhythm.

Anthony's eyes are closed and his hands are gripping the couch cushions; he's in control in a way Tony can't be. Tony watches him breathe and relax into the pleasure. Is this how he is with Steve? Is this how Steve would look if Tony ever had a chance to taste his cock?

It keeps hitting him in waves, the hopeless dark feeling that accompanies so much of what he does these days. He palms his own dick through his pants and is not as surprised as he should be that he's gone soft.

Maybe it'll return if he sucks at the tip of Anthony's cock or if swallows so much of him his throat tickles just to hear the broken sounds he makes? He tries, more than once, and while Anthony tips toward the edge, Tony only feels tears prickle at the edges of his eyes.

So that he stops thinking of any Steve, from any universe, Tony focuses completely on the feeling of the cock he's sucking. It's hard to shut out the sounds of Anthony, a man with a fucking wedding ring, a man with fucking _everything_ , teetering towards an orgasm, but Tony manages it well enough that when Anthony tries to grab his attention, he ignores it until Anthony comes, with a grunt, down the back of his mouth.

Tony coughs as some come falls into his windpipe and the force of it pushes him onto his hands and knees while he tries to get air back in his lungs. He doesn't feel Anthony move, but quickly enough Anthony is pulling him up onto the couch and helping him drink from a glass of water.

“Are you ok?” Anthony asks, and it doesn't go unnoticed that he wipes some of his own come off Tony's chin.

“Fine.” Tony's throat is scratchy and dry, he takes another sip of water and wishes it was something else.  

Anthony sighs. “Yeah… no. I'm not falling for that. What the fuck happened? Did I hurt you?”

“It's fine, I promise. I liked it.” It's only a lie because Tony came back to earth a different man, and it has nothing to do with his time in the stars. Anthony's watching him, blaming himself, Tony can see it in his frown, knows he kept going every time he should have turned back. He settles in next to Tony, and if he notices that Tony's erection is gone, he doesn't say anything.

They don't talk after that. Anthony doesn't hold him or soothe him, but he doesn't leave. Tony gets the guilt thing, gets that there's nothing he can say to settle it, so he doesn't push. Tony can't fix it and Anthony can't fix it and they both have that in common, at least.

 

\----

 

Tony wakes up because his stomach is roiling and because he hears someone speaking behind him. He's alone on the couch now, left here with his dry mouth and a pounding headache and a gross self-hatred.

“He's still asleep. I'm going to need a little bit of time to clean him up and dry him out, but yeah, I'll take him over right after.” No one responds, Tony assumes Anthony’s on the phone. He's pacing and it's still dark outside, Tony wonders if he slept, and he knows if Anthony didn't, it's Tony's fault.

Anthony pauses before continuing. “Yeah, ok, sounds like a plan.” More silence as Tony listens to Anthony listen to whoever's he's on the phone with. “I think that's something we should wait till we get home to discuss… love you, too. See you soon.”

Tony should have known it was going to be Steve on the phone. Later they'll be talking about him and Steve will tell Anthony it isn't his fault and the next time he sees them they'll pity him more.

“What's up?” Tony asks, refusing to sit up but also refusing to go unnoticed. He doesn't like the idea of being cared for.

Anthony walks over and gives Tony a long, assessing look.  “Steve's mission…” he pauses for a long while and Tony can't tell what the big deal is. If Steve was hurt, Anthony wouldn't have just casually told him he loved him. “They found someone last night.”

“Someone?” Tony asks because apparently this is someone he's going to see.

“They found Steve. I mean, uh… not mine, but from your universe.”

Tony sits up fast enough his head swims. “Alive?” he's on his feet and trying to find where the hell a pair of shoes are.

“Yeah,” Anthony confirms as Tony slips on the closest ones he can find. “Alive and making life difficult for a lot of SHIELD agents.”

Of course Steve, _his_ Steve, is causing problems. Tony needs to be there, needs to see him, needs to tell him everyone here just wants to help. It's not the first time he's woken up to a new world, and Tony can actually do something to make it better this time. “We're leaving now,” he announces, almost out the door.

Anthony doesn't move. “Wouldn't you like to...you know...take a shower?”

Tony grins. None if that matters. “Oh, gorgeous. You think this is rock bottom? Steve has seen so much worse.”

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'm going to write a ults-Steve point of view sequel, like I've been saying I was going to since the beginning of the year.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post](https://msermesth.tumblr.com/post/179434106424/little-talks)


End file.
